Words of Love
by IShouldBeOverThis
Summary: Sherlock is demanding.  John decides to teach him a lesson.


"Fuck me," came the command.

John knew enough of Sherlock's choices of words to know that it wasn't being used as an exclamation—'well, fuck me'—in the way that someone else might say, 'Strike me pink and call me an elephant.' Nor was Sherlock suddenly taking their relationship in a new direction, in that they _were_ having sex, that is, had started a sexual relationship, had become lovers, were having an affair, or dare we say it, a romance?

Nevertheless, he felt as Sherlock's flatmate, friend and now lover, he did have rights, and not being arbitrarily ordered to perform tasks, no matter how pleasant, was one of them. It would also set a precedent of behavior on Sherlock's part, wherein he would expect John to drop trou' whenever Sherlock wished. This was to be avoided.

So he stayed where he was, in his comfy chair, sipping his tea and reading his book. A minute, give or take a few seconds, passed.

"Joooooohhhhhnnnn…fuck me! I want sex!" was bellowed out of the bedroom.

"That's nice," called John. I hope you have fun. Save me some for later."

"What?"

"I said, 'HAVE FUN!'" John called back.

There was the sound of things moving in the bedroom, culminating in the door being swung back against the wall with a reverberating thwack, and Sherlock, clad in nothing but the blue dressing gown, stomping through the kitchen and into the sitting room to stand in front of John's chair, erection at the level of John's eyes.

Sherlock fidgeted from foot to foot in discomfort. "But John, I want your cock in my arse!" Although unspoken, the 'NOW' hung, ghostly, in the air between them. Sherlock managed to smile a nearly charming smile, eyes open wide like a puppy. A rabid puppy. With rictus.

With great calm and gravitas, John put a scrap of paper between the pages of his book and set it on the table beside him. He thought about leaning forward to emphasize his point, but as that would put him closer to the proffered cock and might give Sherlock ideas, he decided against it.

"Sherlock, what am I?"

Sherlock's nose wrinkled up and the lines on his forehead became more pronounced. It was not a particularly good use of his features, and helped John maintain his resolve, because really, being presented with a nearly naked Sherlock made him want to chuck the whole lesson and go ahead put his cock in that arse rather badly.

"Don't be absurd, John. This is not the time for existential discussions," said Sherlock through gritted teeth.

"I'm not talking existentially. And don't grit your teeth; it's bad for them. What am I, to you?"

Sherlock pinched his lips together and continued to fidget, although his erection had subsided considerably. "My friend, my lover. I don't know! A frustrating twat at the moment."

John nodded in a way that he hoped was sagely. "While I appreciate your ardor for my, how did you so tenderly put it, cock in your arse, I consider myself your lover and not just your fuck. Perhaps if you asked me, wooed me even, rather than just commanding me, I might be more inclined to accept your invitation."

Sherlock's full lips had all but disappeared into a thin line as John spoke. He looked as if there was a war going on inside him as to whether the desire to be fucked was greater than the desire to be superior. "FINE!" he erupted with a great exhalation of breath, ". Satisfied?"

John tilted his head to one side and looked up at Sherlock's face with an expression that clearly said, 'You're the genius, what do you think?' He held Sherlock's gaze for exactly two point seven seconds longer than necessary then looked away and reached for his book again.

Sherlock made a noise that sounded like someone scratching an LP with a needle, only slowed down considerably to reach the low timbre of Sherlock's voice. 'LP,' thought John with a slight snigger as he continued his slow motion reach for his book. 'Would Sherlock have had LP's? Mycroft must have, so surely Sherlock knew what they were.'

Although the erection was now completely gone, Sherlock continued to shift from foot to foot in physical agitation. "John." His voice was low now, not pleading exactly, not apologetic really, but perhaps comprehending would be a good word. "John, I like…I would like... John, I…was sitting on the edge of the bed and I thought about how…when we're together, in bed, well, when we're together at all, really, everything is better, and how I…love the way you look at me, and touch my skin, and…I really did become aroused. And I thought…if you weren't doing anything, that you might…might want to join me in bed." By the time he finished speaking he had shut his eyes with the effort and was visibly swallowing. He was also getting hard again, John noticed.

John smiled up at Sherlock, "There. Isn't that better? Doesn't that make the moment more pleasant for both of us?"

Again the war between desire for John and a desire to be right raged across Sherlock's face leaving him unappealingly blotchy. John chose to ignore it. After all, Sherlock's face became blotchy during sex and that was very appealing.

"Yes," Sherlock mumbled, apparently to his feet. He raised his eyes to John and smiled again, this time sweetly and crooked and genuine. "Yes."

John smiled back with his own sweet and genuine smile. "Go in the bedroom. I'll be right in."

Sherlock dashed off.

John looked at his watch and noted the time. 'If he hasn't yelled in five minutes, I'll go in,' he thought as he opened his book, held it with one hand and picked up his cup to take a sip.


End file.
